


When Pen Is Put to Paper

by Sarahtoo



Series: Romantic Overtures [2]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 11:45:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4520682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phryne receives Jack’s letters and sends a few of her own.</p>
<p>This story carries on from my first fic, Romantic Overtures, and it's best understood if you've read the first. Plus, you know, I'd love it if you read the first. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Pen Is Put to Paper

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to jlrpuck, who gave me the idea to follow up from Phryne’s end, and to all of you who commented and kudoed (is that a word?) the original work. Your support means so much!
> 
> Once again, I was unable to verify the timetables they’d be working on, but I couldn’t bear for Phryne to be gone from Jack for too long. Please forgive any inconsistencies!

Although she couldn’t look as she guided the plane into the blue Australian sky, Phryne raised her arm to wave at Jack. She knew he’d be watching.

What was she to do with that man? If that kiss had happened last night, she would bet that they’d not have arrived separately at the airfield this morning! He was delicious, her Jack, and to finally know not only that he wanted her, but that he was ready to act on it? Well, that was superb. He’d be on the next boat to London, she was sure of it. She smiled, smugly.

“You and your inspector seem rather close, my dear,” Her father yelled from his forward seat.

“We are close!” Phryne shouted her reply, but finished the thought quietly, knowing her father couldn’t hear her. “He’s my best friend.”

Well, dammit. Phryne thought. When did that happen? She still counted Elizabeth Macmillan as her closest female friend, but Jack had come to mean so much more to her than just an investigative partner. He’d become her rock, the one she wanted with her when she was uneasy. He was always there, steady and strong.

She had to think about this. If he was her best friend, should she jeopardize that friendship by pushing it into sex? Her brows drew down and she pursed her lips. What if she tired of him in bed? She always did, with men. Would their friendship survive it? She felt a hard jab in the region of her heart at the thought of losing his companionship. She shook her head, denying the feeling. She’d vowed never to let anyone become essential to her happiness again; she didn’t want to be dependent on anyone, particularly a man.

But hadn’t she let more people than Jack into her heart? Jane, for one. She’d nearly died when she’d realized that Jane’s mother was alive and might take her away. And Dot, who’d made herself indispensable, both as an employee and as a friend. With Dot, of course, came Hugh, sweet and loyal, and so very innocent. And then there was Mac, of course, who shared Phryne’s wartime memories and had proven to be steadfast, loyal, and willing to tell Phryne when she was being foolish. Aunt Prudence, surprisingly enough, for all of her bluster and disapproving looks, was dear. And even Mr Butler, Bert, and Cec—why, she had an entire troupe of people she was connected to! And, she realized, she wouldn’t give up her ragtag chosen family for the world. So maybe there would be room for one more; room enough for Jack.

 

**********

 

By the time Phryne set down for the first overnight of the trip, she’d convinced herself that she and Jack were adults, that they could handle some additional intimacy (which she’d amused herself for several hours imagining in detail), and that when their affair ended, they would be able to remain friends. After all, they were partners in crime—so to speak—were they not?

Phryne and her father sat down to dinner that evening, both tired from their day’s journey. They supped lightly—the hotel’s fare was acceptable, if not up to Mr Butler’s standards—and though Phryne’s father headed to the hotel bar for an accompaniment to his tonic, Phryne decided to end her evening with a hot bath. She soaked out her body’s aches from sitting for so long, and thought about Jack. Perhaps she’d write him a letter, let him know how much she anticipated seeing him! Inspired, she dried herself off and donned her robe before sitting down at the room’s small desk with a piece of hotel stationery.

 

_1 September 1929_

_Hello Jack!_

_The flight has been uneventful so far. I find myself thankful that it is too loud to converse for long, as that happy circumstance kept me from feeling the need to drop my father out of the plane somewhere over Victoria._

_I am so glad that you came to the airfield to see us off this morning—and what a sendoff! I have been anticipating another of your kisses since that day at Café Replique, but I will admit that my imagination fell short. Now I can hardly wait until I see you again for another taste of your beautiful mouth._

_My father is very interested in you now, Jack, having seen how “close” we are. I found myself thinking about our friendship under his interrogation (my father has a different approach to your stern silences, but he extracts information all too well). We are friends, aren’t we, Jack? I find myself thinking of you that way—as my friend—often. And yet, I so often want to kiss you! I cannot tell you how often I have lost the thread of your conversation because I was too busy letting your voice wash over me as I watched your lips move. I think that we should consider exploring something that is beyond friendship. Who knows where this attraction might take us?_

_Until I see you again, Phryne_

 

Phryne laid down her pen and blew lightly on the ink to dry it. She’d post the letter in the morning, before they headed off on the next leg of their journey. Smiling a little at the thought of Jack’s reaction to her suggestion, Phryne climbed into bed to sleep.

Less than an hour later, she climbed out again. Her imaginings of Jack had led to a need to ease her own tension (and she had, quite… erm… handily), but even that hadn’t made her ready to sleep. She decided to write to Jack again, just to get the images out of her head.

 

_1 September 1929_

_Darling Jack,_

_I cannot sleep. I am thinking too much of you! I have already brought myself ease, and yet my tension remains. I want to write down my fantasy so that you can share in my discomfort, and perhaps plan how we can relieve it together when next we meet?_

_In my dream, today’s kiss happened, but it happened in my parlour, after everyone else had departed following the wedding. We were alone, sitting side by side on the chaise with our drinks. We were flirting, as is our habit, when suddenly, you tossed back your whiskey and set your glass aside. Then you_ reached _for me—those reaches are so thrilling, Jack!—one hand on my waist, and the other cupping my cheek. Our eyes met, and then your attention moved to my lips. But unlike at the observatory, this time, there was no glowing bottle to catch my eye beyond you. Indeed, I found myself quite unable to look away as you lowered your mouth to mine._

_Your kisses, Jack! I think that I would like to cuddle with you and just kiss you for hours. I want to sip at the dip above your top lip and torment you enough that you whisper my name in your deep, delectable voice. But back to my fantasy, because in my mind tonight, darling Jack, we didn’t stop with kisses._

_No, indeed, your hand on my face slipped down to cover my breast, and for a moment, you pulled away from my kiss to look down and see that connection. My nipples are hardening even now, Jack, thinking of your hand on my breast! In my fantasy, you swept me up into your arms and carried me up the stairs to my boudoir. When we arrived there, you set me down and proceeded to relieve me of my clothing, stroking and kissing every inch of skin you bared. When your mouth closed over my breast, I was electrified, but that sensation was nothing compared to when you laid me down on the bed and brought your mouth between my thighs! It was exquisite, Jack._

_Because you are a gentleman, you brought me to a full climax before you crawled up my body (I have no idea when you took your clothes off in this fantasy, but you did, and I was thankful). Your mouth caught mine again, tasting of both of us, as you pressed your body into mine. I know that you are well-endowed, Jack—I did undress you once, after all, and I’ll admit that I peeked—so I can imagine how well you will fill me. In my fantasy, you set a rhythm that I was able to catch immediately, and I wrapped my legs around your hips to assist. Even with our bodies intertwined, your mouth and eyes stayed on mine until we both found our peaks._

_Dammit, Jack, now I have to go and relieve myself again. Let’s hope that this time, I’ll be able to sleep afterwards._

_Thinking of you, Phryne_

 

**********

 

Although Phryne had intended to post at least her first letter to Jack before leaving town, she had begun to feel it wasn’t quite right. She didn’t want to ask him in writing if he’d be her lover—she wanted to ask him with her eyes, her mouth, and eventually her body! And the second letter, though so very fun, might overwhelm Jack’s reserve, and she wanted to be present when that happened. So she tucked both letters away in her carpetbag until she could consider a bit more.

The weeks of flying went smoothly; Phryne had made arrangements with various airfields to leapfrog across Indonesia, Asia, and Europe to get them to England. But her father’s company wore on her, and she found that she was content to curl up in her room with a book after dinner most nights. If their hotel had a nice bar, she would occasionally stop in for a drink or a dance, but she found herself turning down the offers of a night of pleasure she received. It was strange, she thought. It had been a long time since she’d truly wanted to take a man to her bed. She’d fooled around some with Compton, it was true, but that was less about real desire than about old times. Even her encounter with Guido in his kitchen didn’t get very far. She wasn’t sure why she’d kissed him, really, except that she’d felt rather raw after having dinner with Concetta, and Guido’s kisses had been reassuring, somehow.

Thoughts of Concetta brought her back to Jack, though she couldn’t say that he was truly ever far from her mind. She had been thinking about her feelings for the inspector somewhat obsessively as she flew. It was unlike her, but she found that she missed Jack. His sly humour, his sideways smirk, and his wonderfully expressive eyes all came into her mind at regular intervals. She found herself wanting to point things out to him as she flew—the pod of dolphins she’d seen dancing in the waves below the plane; the colorfully dressed women out in the fields of India, their saris pulled over their heads against the sun; the cathedrals of Europe, which were even more stunningly beautiful from the air. She found herself contemplating taking this trip again, someday, with Jack in the forward seat. She was certain she would not tire of his conversation as she had her father’s!

In fact, she began to wonder whether she would tire of Jack at all. She desired him, as she had desired so many men, but there was a newness to what she felt for Jack that she couldn’t quite identify. With other men, she hadn’t wanted to do anything but fuck their beautiful bodies; with Jack, she wanted that, but she also wanted to cuddle with him and discuss their days, to have adventures with him such as their rides on the Great Scenic Railway, and to be a part of his investigations to help make their world a better place.

Unlike other men, Jack continually surprised her. There was so much about him that she didn’t yet know, and she burned to find out. She wanted to see where he lived, to talk about his hobbies—she knew he liked to read, but what else did he do when he wasn’t solving murders? She wanted to feed him—for some reason, watching him eat caused her enormous joy. She wanted to walk with him, anywhere really, as long as she could twine her hand around his bicep and have him look down at her with that smile. She smiled herself at that; her Jack’s smiles were so very precious.

“Good Lord!” Phryne sat up straight on the chaise she’d been lounging on, looking out the window on the sights of—where were they again? It didn’t matter. It wasn’t Melbourne, and it wasn’t yet London. “I’m in love with him!” Her mouth gaped and her eyes grew wide. In _love_ with Jack? She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t love a man, ever again! But Jack… her spine softened, as did her eyes, and her mouth curved into a small smile. Jack was nothing like Rene. He would treasure her love; he wouldn’t squander or abuse it. Perhaps being in love with Jack was not such a bad job after all.

 

**********

 

When Phryne and her father arrived in London, she half-hoped that Jack would be waiting at the airfield, or at least at her parents’ London house (she’d left the address with Mr Butler, hoping that Jack would seek it out). But he wasn’t. Her heart hurt. Why had he not come after her? She’d been so sure that he would!

“Excuse me, miss,” the timid ladies’ maid that she’d been given (the girl reminded her a little of how Dot had been when she’d first come into Phryne’s employ) knocked softly on her bedroom door as she was readying herself for a hot bath before dinner.

“Yes, Tillie?” Phryne looked inquiringly at the girl.

“Mr Fredricks asked me to bring you this letter, miss,” the girl said. The butler hadn’t said there’d been correspondence waiting for her, so this must just have arrived.

“Thank you, Tillie,” Phryne said, holding out her hand.

Tillie passed her the envelope and bobbed a curtsey. “Your bath is ready, miss,” she said.

Phryne nodded, her attention already on the chicken-scratch handwriting on the envelope. It was from Jack! She forced herself to cross to the desk and carefully employ the letter opener there, though she wanted to rip the envelope open to see what he had to say. He must have written this on the day she’d left Melbourne for it to have arrived so quickly! Perhaps it included information on when to expect him! She began to read.

 

> _Sunday, 1st September 1929_
> 
> _Darling Phryne,_
> 
> _Never have I received a romantic overture so compelling as your invitation to follow you to England. I cannot put into words how much I wish that I could take up this challenge, but I must attend to my duties here. I cannot leave City South bereft of the both of us! I hope that this letter will suffice to show that the desire was not lacking; indeed, please understand that the situation is completely the opposite._

 

Phryne’s heart fell, and she could feel tears pricking the backs of her eyes. He wasn’t coming. She closed her eyes. He wasn’t coming. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d been hoping to see him, but it seemed her dreams of a London reunion were not to be. She breathed in, a little raggedly, and the corners of her mouth turned down as she pressed her lips together to keep them from quivering.

She supposed she could understand—he was a working man, after all—but that didn’t keep her from wishing. She blew out a short breath, opened her eyes, and continued to read. His words lifted her mood a bit—he was wishing for more between them, just as she was! She gave a slightly watery laugh at his insult to her driving, and clasped the letter to her bosom at his closing “Yours, Jack.” Was he hers? Was he really? She found that she could think of nothing she wanted more at this moment, except for him to knock on her door and smile that slow, beautiful smile. Her eyes flicked to the door and held for a moment, hopeful. But no, he wasn’t coming.

Well, then. Her spine stiffened. She would just have to conclude her business in London expeditiously and return to Melbourne herself. She did not want to leave this business between them unfinished! First thing tomorrow, she would see about her wardrobe needs (plane cargo areas were scandalously small), and then begin to look into return travel options. She headed off to the bath, determination in her step and the letter in her hand. It was definitely worth a second read.

 

**********

 

The following morning, Phryne and her mother headed off to her mother’s modiste. The few things Phryne had left behind in her London closets were classic fashion that did not clash with changing styles, but she definitely needed some clothing that was _a la mode_.

As she donned the white blouse and trousers she’d packed in her carpetbag, she realized that little Tillie must have unpacked for her. Her eyes widened. The letters! She rummaged through the drawers befor spotting them, standing in one of the cubbies of the writing desk. Phryne blew out a breath of relief. She thought that the first letter was probably fine to send, but she still wasn’t sure she wanted him to read the second without her there to see (and enjoy) his reaction. Perhaps she’d save that one for later, after she arrived home. She checked the two envelopes and tucked the second letter into the bottom of her jewelery box with Jack’s. Perhaps she’d pick up something to keep them in while she was out.

Phryne pulled on the long green-and-gold coat and pushed her lilypad earrings through her earlobes, then took up her matching dark green, tasseled cloche. She picked up the first letter to give to Mr Fredricks to be franked. Perhaps she would write again tonight to let Jack know her travel plans; she might even be brave enough to write about her newly discovered feelings. But not now—there was work to do!

 

**********

 

Phryne cuddled into bed, her peach pajamas soft against her skin. What a day! The visit to the modiste that she’d planned for only the morning had turned into most of the day, and then her mother had insisted that they visit several of her friends for tea, followed by a welcome-home dinner party that lasted until the wee hours. She hadn’t made it to the travel agent at all, so that would need to be her first stop in the morning. She was only willing to stay in her parents’ circle for so long to be paraded around to all of the ladies with remotely marriageable sons. For goodness sake, Lady Wentworth’s son was fifty, if he was a day, and paunchy! No thank you, Phryne thought. She had a lovely, fit inspector with a full head of hair awaiting her return. She smiled. Dear Jack.

Oh! She’d almost forgotten—she’d intended to write Jack another letter! She rolled out of bed and made her way to the desk. As she searched for writing paper and pen, she saw a slip of white out of the corner of her eye—an envelope that had fallen to the floor! She’d dismissed Tillie well before she’d been ready to retire, so Tillie must have left it here for her. Phryne snatched it up. Yes! Jack! Two letters in two days, inspector? Phryne’s smile was smug this time. She sliced open the envelope and began to read. She grinned outright at his summary of the murder case he’d solved, and then her breath caught at his description of the imagined kiss. Oh, Jack! She smiled a little wickedly, thinking of where she’d like to see their kisses going, the next time they were in a private setting. Laying the letter carefully aside to be stored with the others, Phryne pulled her stationery toward her and began to write.

 

_23 September 1929_

_Dear Jack,_

_I was surprised by how much I wished that you would be here to greet me when my plane touched down at London airfield, and by how saddened I was that you were not. I don’t know how it would have been possible for you to reach London before I did, but my heart apparently knows no logic where your kisses are concerned. London seems rather lonely without you, even though I never have been here with you. How can that be?_

_My parents’ reunion went surprisingly well; I did not actually see the_ denoument _, but they seem to have made up. My father seems chastised, and my mother is ready to forgive—she loves him so! What I see in her for him is always rather amazing to me. I never understood how loving someone could be both exasperating and rewarding, and I always thought her a fool for giving so much of herself into his keeping. But that was before I met you._

_I have been thinking about you, about us, for some time now. I thought for a long time that because we were friends, we could step over the line into physical intimacy and back again without harm. But I think that I was wrong about that. I think that you have begun to mean so much to me that if (when?) we cross that line, we are unlikely to ever return. You are so much more to me than a friend, Jack. If you do not feel the same, I will manage, but I am not sure that I can have you and let you go._

_That said, please think carefully, Jack. I do not think that I am likely to marry, and I know that you are, at your base, a traditional man, no matter how liberal your mind. Can you be happy with a nontraditional woman? For I would never want to contribute to your unhappiness, even if that means never stepping beyond our friendship. I want you with me, but not if you would compromise yourself to make it happen. You mean too much to me for that._

_I will leave you to consider that, my darling. Until I see you again (soon, I hope), I remain_

_Yours, Phryne_

_PS I was thinking about what would happen after a kiss in my parlour too, and I think it might scandalize you. I suppose we’ll have to compare our imaginings to find out! Mine includes the chaise lounge and a bit of some sweet, sticky liqueur, and heavy involvement of both of our tongues. —P_

 

With that image in her mind, Phryne slid the letter into an envelope and, still smiling faintly, slid into bed.

 

**********

 

Phryne woke late the next morning and, refreshed, set out for the travel agent. She was able to book passage on a steam ship, the _Majestic_ , that was leaving London in just under a week. She supposed that some people might find it odd that she’d stay so little time after so long a trip, but those people didn’t know her parents. Although Phryne loved her mother, she rather thought that an additional week in her father’s company was sufficient.

She stopped along the way back to her parents’ house to send a quick telegram to Jack, alerting him of her travel plans. She liked to think of him waiting for her on the dock when her ship arrived; maybe she could find some time alone with him between the dock and her own house. That might take some planning, but she had weeks in which to plot.

Returning to her parents’ house, Phryne asked Mr Fredricks whether any letters had arrived. When he replied that there had been no correspondence for her, she tried to stifle her disappointed reaction.

“Thank you, Mr Fredricks,” she said. Then, after a pause, “Is my mother at home?” Told to seek her mother in the yellow parlour, Phryne set off to impart the news about her imminent departure.

“But Phryne, darling!” her mother protested, upon hearing that she had only a few more days with before her daughter headed back to the other side of the world, “You only just got here! Surely you have friends you’d like to see? And there are several events over the next few weeks that I’d wanted to take you to!”

Phryne smiled. She knew that her mother loved to show her off, even when it was with the end goal of _marrying_ her off.

“I know, mother,” she said, “but I have business in Melbourne that won’t wait. I had to take a very long absence to make sure that father got here in time, but I really need to get back to it. You are always welcome to visit me, you know! I’m sure that Aunt Prudence would love to see you, too. Maybe you—and father, I suppose—should come later in the year? We can introduce you around Melbourne society.”

Lady Fisher pouted slightly, wishing that her daughter hadn’t chosen to live so very far away. “But—”

“No, mother, I won’t be swayed!” Phryne held up her hands, as if to ward off her mother’s pleading. “Besides… I’ve, well, I’ve met someone. And I want to see if this affair can go the distance, but the distance between London and Melbourne is simply too far!”

Phryne’s mother stopped, eyes wide. “You’ve met a man? One that you’re serious about? You must tell me about him!”

Phryne smiled crookedly. “I am serious, I think. It’s early days yet, though I’ve known him for quite some time. He’s a detective inspector with the Victoria police. You’d like him, I think. He’s kind, and funny, when you get to know him, and yet serious. He has this voice that encourages you to tell him everything, while it strokes over your skin like velvet.” Phryne drew her legs up into her chair and wrapped her arms around them. She didn’t know it, but her eyes had become distant, and her voice was dreamy. “His smile is rare, but when it comes, it’s like a beam of light. And he’s so very _honorable_ , mother—he’s the best man I think I’ve ever known.”

Phryne’s mother felt her eyebrows rising with every word Phryne spoke. This man sounded like the complete opposite of all the other men Phryne had dallied with over the years—she supposed that a mother shouldn’t be aware of her daughter’s liaisons, but she knew very well how her daughter lived her life. She’d never really understood the modernity of today’s young people, but she knew that Phryne was at the head of the pack.

“And what’s his name?” She asked, softly, watching the expression on Phryne’s face.

“John Robinson,” Phryne said, smiling as she said it, “but everyone calls him Jack.” Phryne looked up, meeting her mother’s eyes. “He’s wonderful, mother,” she said, simply.

Lady Fisher nodded, and made a mental note to send a letter to her sister Prudence to find out what she knew about this inspector. It seems that she and her husband would be visiting Australia again before too long—she needed to meet this man!

 

**********

 

Phryne asked Mr Fredricks about the post several times that day, but none was forthcoming. Perhaps the shipping schedule had not been conducive to additional letters? Surely Jack had continued to write. She resigned herself to waiting, and spent her time planning the few days she’d be in London with the precision of a military general. She summed up her schedule to Jack in another letter that evening.

 

_24 September 1929_

_Dear Jack,_

_I made my travel arrangements to come home today! I cannot wait to see Mac, Jane, and Dot, along with all of my lovely adopted family. And you, of course—I had to work very hard not to put you first on that list, because I think I am looking forward to seeing you most of all. I know that, logically, I will have to see everyone before I can be alone with you, but I prefer my fantasies of catching you alone on the dock (or in your police car, or perhaps in a cab heading toward my house) and snogging you senseless first and foremost._

_I am working very hard this week to make sure that I get back to you as soon as I can. I have allowed my parents to accept social engagements every night of my stay in London, and several afternoons as well. I think I shall see all of the aristocracy in London in the next six days! I hope that you are appropriately grateful for my labours; I will allow you to show me your appreciation at the earliest opportunity._

_Tonight, we dine with Lord and Lady Bonfort. He is seventy (and that might be a generous estimate of his youth), and she is no more than twenty-two. I believe she is expecting their third child (achieved through immaculate conception, I sincerely hope), so it is possible that while the rest of us sup on duck and pudding, either she will be pretending to eat while attempting to stay her nausea or she will be served something along the lines of broth and bread. My parents feel it to be important that I socialize with my “peers”—though I’m not sure which of the two of them that might mean. I hope that I will be surprised to find Lady Bonfort to be a former suffragette who led the aristocratic women of her acquaintance to picket, but I expect that it is more likely she’s a timid young woman who is ashamed by how ardently she hopes that before long, her children will inherit her husband’s estate. It seems to me that often, being a young woman of aristocratic background in England is akin to slavery. I am very glad that this type of marriage was not my lot!_

_As I’ve told you before, however, I have a difficult time imagining any marriage to be my lot. I hope that does not offend you, Jack. It is only that I have felt what it is like to have no say over my money, my body, and my life, and I found it to be a bitter pill. I do not think that I would object to a partnership with a good man, but a formalized contract may not be necessary, to my mind._

_In case it isn’t clear, when I say “a good man,” Jack, I find that I am thinking of you. In fact, you are so honorable and upstanding that I find myself wanting to muss you. The errant curl I sometimes see on your forehead thrills me. Although you look very handsome in your detective suits, I find that I want to see you in your shirtsleeves, in a way that is so different to how you present yourself to the rest of the world. A way that I can believe is for me alone. Honestly, seeing you with just a loosened tie and unbuttoned collar sets my pulse to racing!_

_I must close now—we are off to dinner—but be assured that behind my social smile, I will be imagining you in disarray, and plotting how I can help you get that way._

_Until I see you again, I remain,  
Yours, Phryne_

 

Phryne smirked as she placed the letter in its envelope and addressed it. She hoped that this one made it to Jack before she got home!

 

**********

 

The following afternoon, Phryne came into her room after tea at the home of yet another of her parents’ acquaintences to find that not one or two but _four_ letters had been propped up on her writing desk! She stripped off her gloves and hurried over to flip through them. All from Jack! Her smile was incredulous as she sat down to read them. Two letters a day? He must be spending every spare minute writing!

She sliced the envelopes open neatly and put them in order. The first was short, but so powerful. He’d dreamed about her? She read it three times before she could gain control of her breathing. She was very certain that she’d revisit this letter before she slept that night. An erotic letter? From Jack? This man had more layers than even she’d been aware of! Perhaps he wouldn’t be too scandalized by her own erotic musings. She might have to rethink sending that letter. She laid the letter carefully aside and reached for the second.

As Phryne read, she found herself biting her lower lip and raising her hand to her throat. Jack’s letters were enough to raise the temperature of ice! The images of him pressed, naked, to her bare back and his large hands cupping her breasts were enough that she found herself aroused. And when she read that he imagined them making love, with her on his lap, sitting face to face, she gasped—the spring of arousal winding tightly in her belly expanded with a lovely little release. From a few words on the page! Without even a hint of actual contact! She had known that her slightly staid, responsible inspector had a poetic heart, but she’d never imagined it would be expressed this way. Damn England for being so far away from home! She wanted him now!

Phryne had to get up from her desk and pace a little, waiting for her body to quieten. She decided that a bath was in order, in case Jack’s next two letters were as incandescent as these first two. She rang for Tillie. While Tillie arranged for her bath, Phryne stripped to the skin and swirled on a deep blue silk dressing gown patterned with dragonflies. She lounged on her bed, rereading the first two letters until the bath was ready, then she laid them, along with the next two, on a small stand beside the bath and climbed in.

Jack’s third letter, in which he described his non-physical esteem for her, caused a tear to trail down Phryne’s cheek. He _was_ her friend, under all of the thrumming sexual tension that there was between them.

 

> _You are a brilliant investigator, and your aid is invaluable to me. From our very first investigation (yes, I wrote “our” investigation), your insight and deductive powers have left me amazed. Working with you has become one of my greatest joys._
> 
> _Add to that your generous heart, which has helped you create a family of disparate individuals who are, nevertheless, devoted to you, and I wonder that there is any way to admire you more._

 

Phryne thought she could feel her heart expanding. How was it that Jack always knew what she needed to hear before she could even articulate it to herself? She’d needed to know that he thought of her as an equal, as a partner, and here it was. How could she fail to love this man? She read this letter twice more before forcing herself to set it aside and reach for the fourth.

She sighed a little to think that he would be limiting the number of letters he posted to her, but sighed a little more, in a different way, to think of him reading the held-back letters to her. If she knew her Jack, the letters she received here would likely be the ones that he considered “proper,” but maybe the ones he kept back were then “improper”! Phryne certainly hoped so. She had very high hopes—especially after these letters—about Jack’s improper thoughts.

After she left the bath, she sat down, wrapped in her robe, to the writing desk.

 

_25 September 1929_

_Oh, Jack! The enclosed is a letter I wrote the first night after leaving Melbourne, when I was missing you so much that I could not sleep. I had thought to keep it back for fear of scaring you off my wicked ways, but having read your latest letters (about your dream and your imaginings of our bodies intertwined, your hands on me), I find that I want you to know that my mind has gone the same direction. I can hear your lovely, velvet voice as I read your words, and I am sore affected. Please do not stop writing to me. I cannot wait to see you again._

_Missing you, Phryne_

 

Phryne tucked the earlier letter and this one into a single envelope and addressed it. She would have Mr Fredricks send it first thing tomorrow.

 

**********

 

Phryne’s last few days in London seemed to drag by. She hoped every day for a new letter, and she was pleasantly surprised by how many days brought one. Sometimes the deliveries came in clumps, and others came alone. She was a little disappointed to have been correct that the letters Jack sent would be the proper ones—no more overt seduction was included—but she found that she adored the subversive humor that his letters contained.

The one about the little girl she found hilarious—Jack had been knocking on doors in the area where a body had been found, and he was interviewing the child’s mother. The brat had looked at him, smiled sweetly, and then demanded that he investigate the “kidnap” of her doll, which her mother had confiscated for bad behaviour. Phryne was certain that Jack would have been amused, had the child’s temper not gotten the best of her. Apparently, his loafers would never be the same, after the tromping she’d provided when he’d refused to arrest the “kidnapper.”

And poor Hugh—Phryne laughed to think of Dot giving Jack what-for over Hugh having been injured on duty. She smirked at Jack’s comment that she’d taught Dot a lot—it was true! Dot was definitely coming into her own.

Phryne missed them all terribly. She accumulated small presents for all of her family members—driving gloves for Bert and Cec, a new cookbook for Mr Butler, small sparkly trinkets for Dot and Jane, and even a lovely inlaid flask for Mac. She found herself sitting down at odd moments to pen a note to Dot or Jane or Mac to share with them the surreality of her London visits. She told Mac about the sixteen-year-old heir to a dukedom that her mother’s acquaintance implied she could “land”; she described Buckingham Palace to Jane in great detail; she created a packet of new cinema magazines to ship to Dot.

And she wrote to Jack, about anything and everything. For the most part, her letters to Jack were relatively innocent, filled with what she hoped were humorous retellings of her activities and the people she’d met. The night before she left London, however, she found herself sitting at her writing desk after a late supper, and she could not help the direction of her thoughts as they flowed onto the paper.

 

_30 September 1929_

_Darling Jack,_

_I leave London tomorrow! My only regret is that if you have written me more letters, I will not immediately receive them. To that end, I have asked my mother to collect any that come and forward them on to Melbourne—I’d rather receive them late than not receive them at all. I don’t want to miss a word!_

_I will not be sad to leave London—according to my parents, my “excellent” marital prospects in London include titled (or soon-to-be titled) men of a wide variety of ages; from too young to properly be called “men” to too old to be anything but “elderly,” and not a good, honorable one in the lot! Though perhaps I am biased, given that I have such a prime candidate that I am comparing them to; they cannot live up to your example, Jack!_

_It is late, gone midnight at least—oh, I supposed I should have dated this letter 1st October!—and I am too excited to sleep. In the morning, I begin my journey home to you, and then it will be less than three weeks before I see your handsome face! You will be at the docks to greet me, won’t you, Jack? We may need to be a little circumspect, as Jane, Dot, and Mac are likely to also come and meet me, but at least we can feast our eyes on each other. I find that prospect strangely satisfying._

_But I have definitely been imagining more pleasing ways that you can welcome me home, Jack. Many of them involve your mouth and hands; most do not involve the obstacle of clothing. I think that I must save these imaginings, as you have (I hope), for a separate, private reading after I return. That will give us the opportunity to act them out, as well._

_I will have no chance to post any letters after this one, darling Jack, but I will continue to write as I steam my way to you over the wide, wide ocean. Be at the dock, please—I think my heart could not withstand another delay in seeing you._

_Ever yours, Phryne_

 

Phryne set down her pen and addressed this latest letter. She hoped it would reach him before she got home. The thought that he might not be at the dock to greet her, even under the watchful eyes of her chosen family, was disconcerting. Shaking off her slight malaise, Phryne pulled out another piece of stationery to write the promised additional letter. These could be fun, she thought. The idea of writing down her fantasies and then having the opportunity to act them out at some later date was exhilarating. She was smiling as she began.

 

_1 October 1929_

_Darling Jack, shall I tell you one of my fantasies? Let’s see, which is the most interesting? How about this:_

_I will meet you at the door to my parlour, wearing my new dressing gown—it is forest green satin, decorated with embroidered oak trees, and there are lovely small birds hidden within the boughs for you to find. You will hang up your hat and coat and follow me in to stand next to the fire. I will close and lock the doors from the main hall (the back door will already be locked in this scenario) before I pour you a whiskey and come to stand next to you. You will be smiling that lovely sideways smile of yours, as if you see every naughty thought I am having, and when you take the whiskey in one hand, you will slide your other arm around my waist to pull me close. Your eyes will gaze into mine, and you will say something like, “I appear to be overdressed, Miss Fisher. I didn’t realize that tonight called for casual attire.” I will smile up at you, and tell you that you can be as buttoned up as you like—for now._

_You will then take a sip of your whiskey and set the glass aside before you lower your mouth to mine; the flavour of the liquor will flood my mouth along with the flavour of you as you rub your tongue along mine. You are a delightful kisser, Jack, and I find myself thinking of your mouth far more often that I might have believed._

_I will loosen your tie as your big hand runs up my back (you will have detected by now that I am wearing nothing at all underneath my gown), and when your tie is off, I will begin on your buttons. Your jacket will be shoved off of your shoulders and left to lie on the floor in front of the fireplace, and your waistcoat will follow it in short order. Once I have you down to your shirtsleeves, I will urge you to move back and sit on the chaise, where I will lower myself to sit on your knees, facing you. Your hands have also been busy during this undressing, Jack—you have loosened the tie to my dressing gown and bared my breasts. You have placed your hands flat over my breasts, and my nipples are hard, poking out between your fingers. Your eyes meet mine again, and the desire in them takes my breath away. Once I am securely seated, snug against the hardness of your body, you slide one hand to my back to brace me as you lower your head to my breasts. And I think that, as much as I love your kisses, your very warm, very talented mouth on my breasts will be a sensation that is likely to send me over. But then, you always do like to give me a head start, don’t you?_

_When my shudders have subsided, I will be the one frantic to experience more. I will strip you of your trousers and smalls as quickly as my fingers can manage (will you help me, Jack? I hope that you will be as overcome and as eager as I). When your lovely hard length is uncovered, I will waste no time settling myself over you, sliding down until our bodies are fully joined. I can see it now, Jack! Your hair, mussed from the clutch of my fingers, curling over your forehead; my dressing gown pooling over your knees; my arms wrapped around your strong shoulders and neck; and your hand on my back, urging me into motion. We will move together smoothly, at least until you dip your head again to put your mouth back on my breast. Our gasps and cries of pleasure will echo around the room, and I think we might even find that the chaise has moved from its usual position by the time we both reach our peaks. I will try not to be too loud in my climactic moment, Jack; I would not want you to be mortified by the thought that my staff would know what we were doing._

_When we both can breathe again, we’ll find ourselves entwined, my head on your shoulder and your head on mine, our arms wrapped around each other and as close as we can physically be. That is when I will whisper my love for you—when we are sated and calm, so that you will know that I am not speaking in the heat of the moment._

_I love you, Jack, and I have not said those words to any man in a very long time. I cannot wait until we are together again. You bring out the the best in me, and I want more of you. I want all of you, my love._

_Yours always, Phryne_

 

Phryne shuddered out a breath. Just writing those three words seemed so very intimate. She was suddenly glad that this was not a letter she intended to post. Those words should not be given for the first time when they were separated by thousands of miles. No, they should be separated only by breath and sweat when that truth comes out. She folded the letter, tucked it into her new letter box alongside Jack’s, and headed off to bed.

 

**********

 

The next morning, Phryne was thrilled to be looking down on the London docks from the deck of the _Majestic_ , waving goodbye to her parents. Less than three weeks now, she thought, smiling broadly. As the steamer headed out to sea, Phryne stood, looking not back at London and what she was leaving behind, but ahead, toward her destination. Her home. When England was well and truly left behind her, she headed down to her cabin. It was time to change for luncheon, and besides, she had a letter to write.


End file.
